


Only a Prototype

by TheSaintOfAllSaints



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Animal Death, Blood and Violence, Hank needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Torture, RK900 - Apollo, Swearing, Torture, Violence, cursing, im not even sorry, no beta we die like men - or smth, yep, you read that right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-06 12:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15194786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSaintOfAllSaints/pseuds/TheSaintOfAllSaints
Summary: RK900 receives an assignment and he is going to complete it, no matter what he must do.





	1. The Assignment

**Author's Note:**

> It all started because of Static on the DBH server.
> 
> Re-written thrice and finally, I've decided to break it into chapters, hoping to get 5 chapters MAX. Otherwise, it will never get finished.

The briefing was quick, he accessed the Zen Garden and listened to what Amanda had to say. The Zen garden was eerily calm, no wind or birds sang when he arrived or when he left. It matched Amanda's tone and choice of words, seemingly choosing them with great care as if not to offend him. She seemed preoccupied, irritated and ready to bite someone’s head off. A false calm, a calm before the storm. She needed to be  _ placated  _ before it happened, she had too much control and the probability of her ruining the company was  _ too high a risk _ at the moment.

He nodded once when she finished and ‘woke up’. He stepped off his charging port and started to run his standard diagnostic scans. The whole world became blurred for him.

>Damage status: 0%_

>Deviancy: 0%_

>Time active: 3.2341 minutes_

>Last time active: 20th Novembre 2038_

>Cyberlife database: Online_

>Mission status: Accepted_

The information showed up in the right of his vision, then another line began showing up.

>Report to Level 2_

>Victoria Drzewiecki_

As soon as everything came back into focus, he left his designated area and walked through the hall filled with 12,499 other RK900 units. All standing one behind another, there was just enough space for him to get out of his row. The walkway was just big enough for two people to walk side by side, it ran through the whole warehouse from one door to the other. Another walkway intersected with the main one, it ran through the centre of the hall.

The wall was a deep grey colour, the whole hall had a sterile smell and a clinical feel to it. On the wall that held the elevator, there was also a viewing balcony, he registered people standing there from time to time, talking or simply enjoying the quiet. The walkway and the very bottom of the walls were lined with bright LED strips allowing for just enough light for humans to walk safely. The light would glint off the black marble floor and gave the whole corridor an eerie look, or so he registered the humans say.

He stopped at the door, “RK900. Serial number 313 248 317 - 87. Codename Apollo.”

He looked into the small camera and saw the camera rings shift into focus, a quiet beep broke the silence and a green light flicked on and off. 5 seconds later the door began sliding open and he could step into the elevator. The floor was black, whilst the walls were glass. The RK900 turned to the holo-panel on his left, his LED flickering and ordering the elevator to take him to level two.

Apollo could see the whole battalion from the elevator, all 125 companies standing in perfect squares, divided the walkways and by more LED lights. All of them waiting for their assignments or to be booted up for the first time. Most of them sported the same uniform as him, others were still in their basic clothing, a grey sweatshirt and sweatpants combo, the only thing differencing them were their serial numbers.

As far as he was aware he was one of the first twenty to be chosen at random and to be activated. He was paraded around the building and shown to people who wanted to invest. He met Kamski and shot an android for him, he passed, he didn't know what they were testing but he didn't need to know.

_ He passed. It was all that mattered _ .

All four underground levels were filled with RK900 units, but the levels above ground were filled with humans. He watched the ground level as he passed by, humans shuffling and waiting for whatever humans waited for, the front desk was surrounded by a group of students. Waiting to show their new ideas for androids or whatever other reason that students had for being there. The next level would seem empty to the naked eye but RK900 thermographic vision picked up the sleeping or hunched over programmers. He knew that the fifth level was closed off for private offices where officials were entertained and bought. The third and fourth levels were specifically for android repairs and upgrades.

The elevator stopped at the second level. a human waited for him there, she motioned for him to follow her and so he did. She was tall, with obviously dyed hair, it was white that faded into light pink. She wore a black sweatshirt and torn jeans along with heavy looking boots. Her sleeves were rolled up and her skin was adorned with colourful tattoos of flowers and galaxies.

He scanned her face and took in the information for later use.

>Name: Victoria Drzewiecki_

>Age: 37_

>Clearance Level: 10+_

>Co-creator of the RK series, multiple weapons and gadgets_

>Twin sister of Timothy Drzewiecki_

She stopped at a steel table before leaving him there and coming back with two sleek, black cases, his serial number engraved on them. She was wearing cotton gloves now, she pushed the cases to the side and with a yawn told him to sit. Apollo took the nearest chair and sat down beside her computer.

“RK900, state your serial number.”

“Serial number 313 248 317 - 87.” her fingers flew over the keyboard, inputting his serial number.

“Give me access to your memory banks and standby.” he leaned forward and let the hair and skin fade from the back of his neck and head. Apollo felt her pry open his neck covering and open up his memory banks. Then he registered that he was being connected to her pc.

A rush of information flooded his system. Names, places and situations, as if he was there himself. He felt his whole system slow down, and if he had working lungs he would say the air was knocked out of him.

“Run diagnostic 4.6 and state the result.” she pulled the connecting cable out of his memory banks and slid the panel back. He understood that he could cover up his hull and let the hair and skin ‘grow back’. He felt himself speed up, the information started settling in, sorting itself out in order of events.

“Fully operational, corrupt information at 0.00281%”

“Good,” she motioned for him to look at the table. “Your equipment.”

Apollo stood up and looked at the black cases. She opened both of them, showing him that one of them contained the latest sniper rifle, a sleek black metal thing. Lighter and sturdier than the best army guns, a prototype. While the other held a handgun, of similar properties to the snipe, along with clips for both guns. Then she waved him off without looking, he picked up the briefcases and then took the elevator to the ground level.

He walked the whole floor, weaving between humans and catching snippets of their conversations. He made it to the garage without anyone stopping him, he walked down the five steps. It was cooler in the garage, not as cold as the underground levels. Just a constant 5 degrees above it. The whole building, along with the other two warehouses around Detroit were controlled to the latest detail. From doors to the temperature.

There were eight rows of vehicles, there were two rows of each: cars, motorbikes, trucks and luxury cars for humans. Once again the floor was lined with LED lights, these weren't as bright in the parking area for Cyberlife issued vehicles. Mostly due to there being an actual light source build into the low ceiling. He chose the bike.

He slid the cases onto the back of the bike, a soft click letting him know they were secure. He placed his hand on the base of the bike and waited for the engine to start humming. He got onto the bike and placed his hand over the blue triangle on his chest. His clothing started turning black until the blue of his armband and triangle were the only other colour for a couple of seconds. The blue started to bleeding into a deep navy colour before turning black. The bike was black as well, with dark blue detail work here and there, he kicked the stand holding the bike and began his ride to his destination.

He rode at neck-breaking speed, meandering through traffic and taking shortcuts, he only had three days to complete his mission and the sooner he finished the happier Amanda would be. When he arrived he picked up his sniper case from the bike and climbed the building opposite the DPD station. He put the pieces together within 5 seconds and positioned himself to see through the window, he could see Captain's Fowlers and Anderson's desk. Anderson sat at his desk, flipping through files and seemingly checking them against the computer system. With nothing more than a blink Apollo hacked the security system in the police station, he moved the camera inside to see Hank movements better, hacked his computer to know what he was saying and looking at.

Anderson was looking through Androids, marking them as missing, violent and such. He was building a criminal database for androids, expanding it to contain more than reports of them missing. His phone rang twice, once it was his sister - Dianah and once it was an unknown caller - Apollo’s predecessor. Hank left the building once, only to walk down the road to a sandwich shop, he came back with a hot cup of coffee and a footlong sandwich.

When Anderson left the building for good at 8.47pm, Apollo jumped off the building he was watching from, he disassembled the sniper and slid it into its case on the back of the bike and followed. This time he drove slowly, knowing that Anderson would go straight home, not to any bars. With the simple observation he concluded that Hank was taking care of himself more, less alcoholic drinks, food based on his needs and he seemed to take up jogging. Even Fowler seemed pleased with Hank’s attempt at getting his life back together.

Apollo parked between two empty houses, he couldn’t connect to most of Hank’s home appliances, it was too outdated and the only one that he could use was the audio in Anderson’s phone. He registered soft jazz playing, the soft padding of a dog and Anderson putting dishes into cupboards. Apollo waited until Anderson's breathing was evening out to the sound of some action movie. He sent out a request for a car an hour prior, he had his chance now and he'd take it.

A different RK900 model showed up with the Cyberlife car, the sleek white vehicle contrasting to the meek neighbourhood. Apollo got off his bike, he stepped aside for the other RK900 model to get on it and take it away. He ordered the car to park deeper into the alley between the houses as he walked away.

He knew that Anderson had the following day off, probably why Apollo was sent at this particular time, no one would come looking for him for at least 24 hours. He walked for exactly 2 minutes up to the worn door.

He adjusted the volume of his voice, the tone and the pitch. He tried it twice before he was pleased with how he sounded. He made sure the hunch so that his face was at the same level as the spyhole. He knocked, gently and waited for an answer.

Nothing.

He knocked again, but once again there was no answer. So, he rang the doorbell until the obnoxious noise was joined by barking. He heard something fall and Hank stumbling through the living room and hushing his dog.

Apollo saw Hank look through the spyhole and smiled.

“Hi, Hank.”

The door opened and Hank stood in his Rammstein t-shirt. It was torn on the left sleeve, his sweatpants were covered in dog hair. Hank seemed to be startled, his eyes squinting up at him and mouth hanging open. He held the saint bernard back with his hip as he stared at Apollo. The dog tried to push aside, yipping and slobbering over Hank’s leg.

“Connor wha’ the fu-”


	2. The Groundwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank is gonna need a hug or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's slightly longer than the last one as I promised.
> 
> I was called a monster for writing one bit of this by a friend of mine, and honestly? I still think it's not angsty enough >:I
> 
> I think i gotta update the tags now
> 
> Ughh, so yeah enjoy?

“Hi, Hank.”

It was all too easy to trick Lieutenant Anderson, even if it was for exactly 2.3 seconds. All RK900 had to do was put on his best smile and slightly adjust his voice. It was even easier to disarm and shove Hank into his sparse living room.

As soon as Hank realised that he, in fact, wasn’t Connor he pulled his gun and pointed. All Apollo had to do was place his hand on the gun’s barrel and twist it to the right. The shot went off, of course, but Apollo exterior had been upgraded to the point of being bulletproof and nothing more than a fading scratch was left.

The shot startled the saint bernard and RK900 registered the sudden rise in Anderson's vitals. He believed this was called fear or panic to the humans. The dog started barking and padding towards him, but RK900 used his Connor voice to tell it to shut up. It did, it stopped in its tracks but the canine observed with its beady eyes and RK900 suspected that it would try to attack again.

“My name is Apollo.” He switched back to his pre-programmed voice, lower than his predecessor’s, more monotone, colder. “You're going to tell me where the RK800 model is hiding.” He leaned back, avoiding the katana that Hank took off the wall and was wielding. A quick scan revealed that it was a badly made replica of an anime katana. The edge was dull and the amount of dust on the hilt suggested that it was a cheap ornament and nothing more. It was also obvious that Hank had no idea how to use it, his stance was too close and he held it too much like a bat. All Apollo had to do was lean back to avoid the first swipe, then he simply stepped back to avoid the second and the third.

“You might know him as Connor,” Apollo continued, his voice even and unfaltering. His smile dropped the minute he walked into the living room.

RK900’s sensors picked up the dog sneaking on his left and moving towards him, which gave him more than enough time to kick the dog down when it attacked. The dog, Sumo as the RK800s memories informed him, kept growling and was rising back up. It seemed aggravated for some unknown to Apollo reason. It charged with its teeth baring but once again was kicked to the ground. This time Apollo decided to keep it there, with his foot slowly crushing its throat. The one thing he had learned was that humans had an irrational attachment to their animals, especially the non-android kind. He drew and pointed the gun at the dogs head, disengaged the safety and looked Anderson in the eyes.

>Fear Level: 79%_

“I will make you talk one way or another, it is up to you to decide what happens in between. You have exactly 3 seconds to put the katana away.” Hank’s hesitation at first costed him - the katana was practically on the floor when the shot went off. The air whistled and the dog yelped, another four shots and Sumo lay still.

The RK unit didn’t even flinch when the blood pooled around the canine, or when it slowly trickled down to his boots. He looked on with dead, unblinking eyes, registering Anderson's vitals and waiting for him to answer.

Hank did answer, in his own way, by swinging up at him. It was an uncalculated move, Apollo didn’t even have to flinch. Anderson appeared to be aware that he didn’t know how to use a katana and that it was impossible for him to cut anything other than a cucumber with it. His next move was just as irrational as the last one, he threw the katana as if it was a spear, Apollo calculated the flight path and, as he predicted, it missed him by 4.35 centimeters.

However, much to Apollos dismay, Hank used his bulk to push him off balance. He stumbled back a step, and than he almost tripped over the dead dog, before straightening up and seeing what Hank would do next. Anderson started to punch him, stomach, ribs, armpit, collarbone, jaw.

 

>Detected: Hits to outer hull_

>Mid-torso_

>Upper-torso_

>Jaw_

>Damage Status: 0.045%_

>Self Repair Time: 1.3 seconds_

 

The RK900 stood tall, his dead look being bone chilling and seemingly sending Hank into a panic override.

The RK800 model was a prototype through and through, each model was slightly adjusted but never quite fully. RK800 was the guinea pig, he wasn't meant to last, not like Apollo. His exterior was stronger than any other android before him, bulletproof - something no android had before and on top of that, he was so precise that he actually dodged a bullet completely. _Those were only two of his upgrades._

In words that a human might put it _‘Hank was so fucking fucked.’_

Apollo watched as Hank cradled his left hand, he scanned it of course and filed the information for later. Anderson's index, middle and ring fingers were broken in his right hand. His left suffered a break in the metacarpal bones. Both were already red and swelling. He allowed himself to wondered what it was like, feeling _discomfort_ , pain, it must have been an _annoyance_ at least.

Apollo looked down at the dog, it wouldn't wake the neighbours up, and the silencer did its job of muting the gunshot to something that could pass as the TV being too loud. All that remained was Anderson himself, the din he was causing would soon disturb the neighbours and cause more trouble than it was worth.

Anderson took another swing but Apollo caught it and twisted until the left wrist broke. Anderson hollered but soon Apollo grabbed his throat and squeezed until Anderson was nothing but a gasping mess, sucking in air and wheezing. It took exactly 4 steps to push Anderson against the wall, and 57cm to lift him off the ground. Apollo kept watching as gravity did the work for him, he monitored the man's vitals so he wouldn't die.

_Not yet._

“Did you calm down yet?” Anderson kicked and struggled - an obvious ‘no’ to the android. The RK unit decided to stay still, to watch the human tire himself out before flinging him onto the couch. In the 2.46 minutes he was waiting, RK scanned the whole room, noted all the potential weapons and put the gun into his back pocket.

He registered the music collection, the movie playing, the corpse of the dog and the pictures on the walls.

 

>Music: Collection composed of 43% jazz, 32% heavy metal, 25% miscellaneous music_

>Movie: Mad Max: Fury Road. 2015. dir. George Miller_

>Saint Bernard: Deceased_

>Name: Sumo_

>Age: 5 dog years_

 

He turned to look at Anderson on the couch, he was still gasping and ignoring Apollo in favour of looking at Sumo. He had water dripping from his eyes and the android understood that to be tears.

 

>Water, salts, low molecular water substances_

>Water 98.2%, dissolved solids 1.8%_

>Electrolytes: NaCl, K, Cl, ca_

 

Apollo blinked the useless information away, he knew what tears were composed of. He watched Hank as he rolled off the couch to crawl to Sumo, to cradle his dog and mourn.

"Oh Sumo, buddy." The human started breaking down, losing all composure and sobbing. Apollo assumed that it was a similar reaction to when he lost his son. “Oh my precious _boy_ ,” a visible sob shook his whole body, “Oh… _Sumo_ , nooo, _oh_ … nooo.” That was the moment Anderson curled up around his dog's limp body and cried into its fur.

The android tried to place the right word for this, he had human emotions uploaded into him, he could simulate crying and laughing but he found them useless, ineffective and most of all boring. So why was Anderson ignoring the danger completely? It was illogical by all accounts.

Apollo processed the information before him for a whole 35 seconds before grabbing Hank by the neck and keeping a firm grip when he started struggling again. Apollo pulled up and then backhanded the man across the face when he didn't respond, he wrested Anderson off the corpse.

The slap broke a bit of skin, nothing more than a light trickle of blood but the bruise would cover the whole left side of Anderson's temple. Hank started spitting out insults, clawing with his blunt nails at Apollos hand, leaving red streaks of blood and trying to land a kick anywhere. He let him be, he was tired enough and would lose all his energy soon.

As Apollo predicted Hank let up, only held onto Apollos arm to prevent further air cut off. The human seemed tired now, barely holding himself up, his eyes red and puffy, his threats broken up with large gulps of air. His whole body seemed to be taking too much of his energy to stand up on his toes and hold himself steady.

“I will … fucking tear you to …. bits you piece of fucking plastic.” Hank tried to free himself from the steel like grip but with every pull, the android squeezed just a tad harder. “Android piece of shit….. gonna fuck you... up.” Apollo didn’t correct him, not on the fact that he wasn’t wholly plastic or that ‘fucking him up’ was impossible for Hank.

“Reminds you Cole doesn’t it?” He softened his face, his voice, he became Connor for a split second. Just enough time to drill the mere idea of Connor saying it into Hank’s head.

Hank’s face contorted into an ugly scowl and his efforts of getting free were renewed, tiring himself out even more. The RK900 simply dragged Hank away from the living room and into the corridor, away from his dog and the paused movie. Hank was slammed into the wall beside the door and dressed in his jacket like he was a toddler. Apollo chose the first one from the rack, a black, leather jacket with Hank’s full name and the DPD logo embroidered on his left front pocket. The jacket seemed new, it didn't smell of stale oil and wasn't stained with coffee.

Hank put it on, begrudgingly so, but he had no other choice, he resigned to whatever RK had planned. He kept glancing at the dead canine, his breath speeding up and faltering before he bent over and fell to his knees. Apollo saw the human’s temperature rise, his irregular heart beat and he wouldn't be surprised (not that he could) if he retched.

He didn't.

Apollo placed his foot on Hanks right ankle, a subtle warning that if he tried to run he would have a limp till he died. He looked out the window on the door, he watched the laughing teenagers walk past and called for the car. As soon as the teenagers walked off the car rolled up to the front garden, it parked beside Hanks battered car. An old Mercedes that had seen better days, it was probably considered old when Hank first got it, making it ancient now, it was a 1985 SL with stickers on the front window and a battered bumper.

“Get up,” he said to Hank, he was still heaving and shaking on the floor. Apollo pressed down on Hank’s ankle until he started gasping in pain and turned to look up.

“I said get up.” Apollo grabbed him by the back of his jacket and shirt, he pulled him up to stand. RK900 kicked Hank’s feet into flip flops, a light blue pair with orange stripes. Hank’s whole outfit was a wreck and for a second Apollo considered dressing Hank to look presentable. A pair of jeans would make it more preferable.

It would be a waste of time, a waste of clothing even.

He opened the door and pushed Hank through it, still keeping a firm grasp on the clothing and pulling him back when Hank got too far. Apollo slammed the door behind him and dragged Anderson into the car.

He placed his hand on the outside of the car door, locking it so only he could open it. RK took the front seat and commanded the window to close off the front seats from the back ones. It was top of the line bulletproof glass, so no matter how much a human or android tried to break it, it would still stand.

He picked out the coordinates to an old industrial park, somewhere private where Apollo could extract the information without being interrupted. It was too risky to stay in the house, the possibility of someone visiting or noticing something was too unfavorable, even it was unlikely. Bringing back Anderson to the Cyberlife building would be too suspicious and too many questions would be asked.

There were too many variables when it came to human nature, _so fewer humans the better._

The ride was quiet, for the Android at least, another perk of the glass was that it was soundproof. A simple piece of plastic would slide over the glass, meaning that the RK unit could simply close his eyes and report back to Amanda.

She seemed pleased even if there was an underlying threat of a storm in her words. She thought she could hide it well, but her curt tone and eyes gave everything away. She didn't use the pleasantries and her eyes were too cold. She usually simulated some sort of warmth, Kamski wanted her to resemble the real Amanda Stern as much as possible.

It took about an hour to get to New Haven and then about an hour to find and set up a good spot. He left his captive locked in the car, he even decided to put on music for him, in case he got bored - someone called Michael Buble.

He wandered the burnt down area for a while, peeking into warehouses and office buildings. It was a booming industrial estate in the 2020’s before it burnt down in 2028. A freak accident the news said, some chemical spillage from a medical company started a fire which spread due to the wind that day. The suspected cause was the thermostat malfunctioned and the boiler overheat which ended in an explosion, the chemicals were simply catalysts. A couple hundred people and androids perished, the land became unusable for farming or building, it would take another decade for the land to fully recover. Rumors said that Cyberlife had already plans for New Haven but no one knew for sure.

The first three places he considered were either too open, run down or just plain disgusting. He found an abandoned warehouse with dust that wasn't disturbed for at least a three years by anything other than a rodent. He then scanned the area just to be on the safe side, no human or androids were confirmed.

He carried a stool from an office that was attached to the left of the warehouse hall, he placed the chair exactly in the middle of the hall. The office, like the rest of the building, was run down, it had moth bitten curtains and a projector screen. The actual projector was missing, nothing more than a metal pipe and few wires coming from the ceiling were an indicator of its existence. The desk and the guest chair were both rotting pieces of wood now. Whatever papers or binders were left, were mostly eaten by rats or mice. The building overall seemed to have small amounts of fire damage, Apollo suspected it was at the edge of the blast radius.

Apollo searched the adjacent kitchen and cold room. The kitchen had no running water, which wasn't a surprise, but it would’ve come in handy. He’d adapt to the situation, after all, waterboarding and the Chinese water torture weren't the only ways of getting information. He did find a utility knife and a brazing torch, the android took it for a later use. In the cold room, he found an ice pick that was in impeccable condition and stuck it between his jeans and navel.

He connected with the car's AI system and ordered it to come to his location. He had to slide the metal shutter upwards so the car could safely park inside. He couldn’t hack it, the whole power grid in the area was dead, he used the knife to pry open the fuse box for the shutter. It was easy to find the right cables and use up a minor percentage of his charge, with an ear piercing squeal the shutter moved upwards before it stopped completely. It was just enough for Apollo to fit his fingers through the gap and lift. It jammed twice but he only had to push a tiny bit harder, the car came through and parked before the empty chair.

RK900 opened the door and looked at the human. Anderson seemed even more worn out like he’d given up on everything. His hands were covered in fresh blood, the right window was smeared in it, he punched at till he bled.

Pointless self-harm, an irrational hope of escaping, he was coming apart all on his own.

He sat in the back seat slumped over in the black seats with a far away look in his bloodshot eyes. His temple was bruised, a thin trail of dried blood and his hands was a painting of reds, purples and dark blue hues. He shut the world out and got lost in his own, his own pain and misery. RK900 suspected that Hank could drink a whole bottle of whiskey and then start another in his current state. The chance of him drinking himself to death was amusing to Apollo, it was a minor even in his lifw and Anderson was losing it already.

The android grabbed his captive by the upper arm, locked his hold in place and tugged him out of the vehicle and to the ‘interrogation’ room. Everytime Hank pulled or, at least tried to pull away Apollo would tighten his grip ever so slightly.

The hall in itself was a long, open space, with rusty racking and rotting pallets lining the walls. Every so often thin metal beams held up the still intact roof, the parts of the concrete base were visible where the linoleum was missing and the whole place was covered in dust. It probably smelled like dust, Apollo’s sensors it up flying the air.

The chair he brought over, wasn’t in any better condition than the racking and it was missing its wheels. When Anderson was shoved into his seat the chair left six scratches on the linoleum floor as it was pushed back. Apollo used the standard issued cuffs that he had in the car and cuffed Anderson's hands and legs, he made sure to loop in the chairs spine to lock Anderson into a permanent position.

Apollo debated the best approach of getting information, torture was an option. However he didn’t have to kill Anderson, it wasn’t a part of his mission to kill the human, it so happened that he knew where the RK800 was hiding when he wasn’t working a case. Sure, the RK900 could follow Anderson and wait until the Connor model showed up but he had a time limit.

He wasn't told the details of _why_ RK800 needed to be terminated but it was obvious to him. The RK800 model possed too much information that could hurt Cyberlife, but worst of all - it was a reminder of Cyberlife’s failure.

_An embarrassment._

One that got away no less, amidst all of the politics and android uprising, he managed to slip away and only occasionally show himself to assist on a case. Even then he would wear casual clothing and a hoodie to hide his face. RK800 probably knew that he would be hunted down sooner or later. He took the right measures, contacting Anderson via written letters, burner phones, using cash to avoid an electronic trace and trying his best to blend with the humans.

It didn’t change the fact that he would be terminated and all trace of him destroyed. That was the moment Hank was supposed to die, along with Fowler and everyone else in the station were to be paid off to keep their mouths shut.

RK800, serial number 313 248 317 - 51 was the last of it’s pathetic kind, all the spare bodies were incinerated or taken apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There no specifics on how much of an upgrade RK900 is from the RK800 series, so I'm going full out on making him a badass son of a bitch and ya'll can fight me on this.
> 
> Random stuff:
> 
> Why Michael Buble? Well because his concert was on and my parents went to it, that's why.
> 
> Why Mad Max: Fury Road? Why not.
> 
> Metacarpal bones: those are the bones between your fingers and the wrist, so the back of your hand if you will
> 
> Why did you make Apollo do that????? Bc I gotta
> 
> Anyway, hoping for a more or less same length chapter 3. This is gonna take a while longer because the original chapter 3 is now a works in progress chapter 4


	3. The Offering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took me way too long for my liking to write this chapter but at least it's longer than the last :D
> 
> Also beware, cursing because well... Hank.
> 
> Also, chapter 4 is probs gonna be up tomorrow? Later today bc it's 1 am when I'm posting this, so after I come back from work and check it one last time.

Hank was done with the day, he was done with it at 2.43pm to be exact because that's when Gavin decided to pester him for the eight time. It was the usual snide comments, weird glances and lame jokes, usually, Hank would've been fine, fire a joke or two to shut him up or just plain ignore him. He was snappy today, Fowler even gave him shit for it, everyone (apart from fucking Gavin) made sure to stay as far away from him as they could.

Small mercies. He didn’t want their company.

He blamed the paperwork, the lack of coffee, the weather and the stacks of papers on his desk. Fowler gave him the shittiest assignment possible, help make the android database - he was to go through all the physical copies of the android files and update them, check them against the system and put them back into storage. It was long, tiring and most of all boring. Fowler said it was to give him a break from all the running around.

It was absolute fucking bullshit.

He needed Connor, the bastard could scan it all in under two hours while Hank dealt with his second and third stack of paperwork, expense reports and reviewing evidence. However, the thought of losing Connor was enough for him not to bitch about it too much. He understood that Connor needed to hide, one day he woke Hank up and told him that he was leaving. No room for a discussion, after that it was all letters, phone calls and random meetings. Always in different clothing, different numbers, different times and places. Hank stopped saving the phone numbers, he just assumed it was Connor by now.

The only nice thing that happened that day was getting his lunch, a coffee and sandwich from the android run bar a few blocks away - they’d scan his blood or something, he didn’t really ask nor did he want to know and gave him food based on his needs. Connor brought him there before he went away, he wanted to make sure that Hank started eating better, taking care of himself even. Connor made sure that he started running in the morning,

Yet, nothing would ever beat going home or having three days off. He could fuck around from Friday to Sunday, or well Friday and Sunday. His sister was visiting him on Saturday, she wanted to know how he was holding up - which was nice of her but that would mean cleaning his house.

Fuck he hated cleaning.

He did it anyway, he set his Roomba free first, washed the pile of dirty dishes and did his laundry. He even made his bed and wiped the dust down. He brushed Sumo and then let the Roomba out again because of course, the dog left trillions of hair flying around him. He finished up by reheating his day-old lasagna and putting on Fury Road. It was considered an old film by now, and if he said that it didn’t make him old than he was he would be lying. He remembered seeing it at the cinema with his friends.

The couch dipped when Sumo hopped onto it, the large dog made himself comfortable and rested his head on Hank’s chest. Hank sank deeper into the couch and played with Sumo’s fur. He dozed off at some point, he didn’t know when exactly but he knew that the movie didn’t even get halfway.

The shrill sound of his doorbell woke him up. He looked at the time in the corner of his TV and grimaced, it was almost midnight, who the fuck was at his door? He was ready to give them a piece of his mind, and if it was a prank of some sort then he'd… he'd think of something. Probably let Sumo chase them for a bit.

He got up, gently pushing Sumo’s head off him, his chest, of course, sported a wet spot from the dog’s drool. Hank got up, his back letting him know that he haunched too much at the computer, he flicked his shirt into a corner and picked a fresh one from the laundry basket. The Rammstein shirt he got in 2023 at Rock Am Ring, Hank wanted to go again, maybe bring Connor this time.

Sumo got off the couch, barking at the door and trying to meander around Hank as he stumbled to the door. Instead, Sumo just tripped Hank more, he barely caught himself on the door frame.

“Hush Sumo. It’s probably some charity shit.” He pushed Sumo behind him, he had to use his leg and hip to stop him from scratching at the door. Hank looked at the shoe cupboard and realised that his gun was out, he really should stop leaving it out like that. Picking it up he weighed it in hand out of a habit he picked up in the academy. He supposed it was an old habit to just leave the gun lying around the house, he slid it into his ratty sweats. He didn’t want to scare some poor schmuck to death. He looked through the peephole and at first, he didn’t know whether to be happy or angry.

“Sumo, calm the fuck down.” he slid the top lock to the side and twisted the bottom one open. He didn't earn enough to get electronic locks, in fact, he couldn't get a lot of fancy things that would make his life easier. Like that fridge that defrosted itself without making a mess, or had enough space inside for all his food.

He finally managed to open the door, only to hear and see a smiling Connor. “Hi, Hank.”

“Connor what the fu-" He fully intended to give out to him for being out in the open but his brain caught up to his eyesight. It wasn't Connor.

The thing in front of him only had his face. Everything else was wrong. It was too tall, too broad and his eyes a cold shade of blue. Hank reached for his gun and pointed at the thing. He felt almost calm with the gun in his hand, the fucker couldn’t walk away with its head blown off.

Panic.

That was his next step. It was to panic because the fucker just grabbed the barrel of the gun, barehanded and twisted, Hank felt something pop but not quite break in his wrist. A shot went off, the bullet sailing deep into the wall, the thing taking the gun and tossing it to the side as if it was an ice cream. Hank felt Sumo pushing against his leg, heard his barking and growling. But then the Not-Connor spoke again, told Sumo to shut up and he listened. It sounded and looked like Connor, so of course, Sumo listened.

A hand that seemed so familiar but too big, too cold, too alien pushed him back into his house. He felt goosebumps spring on his skin, his heart racing and cold sweat forming on the back of his neck. The hand kept pushing, making him stumble over Sumo and over his scattered shoes and the small coffee table in the living room. Out of sight of others, the thing closed the door with its leg and Hank cursed for pulling the blinds to watch his still ongoing movie. He made a mistake of looking it in the eyes. There was nothing there, it’s smile was dropped when he stepped through the door, a mere trick to make Hank open the door.

“My name is Apollo.” His voice changed, it was deeper than Connors, smooth and monotone. It was dead. He felt his blood turn cold and now he was sure he would have a panic attack, but he needed to push through, he was a fucking cop, he got shot at and berated for a living. He decided to have a panic attack later, much later, when he’s alone and a bottle of whiskey is close by. He’d have a major freak out then.

He grabbed the katana off his wall, it was the first thing that came to mind, the shitty, shitty replica that he got when he was 14 at the first comic con he went to, his ma wasn’t too impressed with him spending her money on it. If Dianah could see him now she’d call him a fucking weeaboo (he’s glad he grew out it) and Hank would probably never hear the end of it from her. He felt the plastic handle creak under the pressure of his hands.

“You're going to tell me where the RK800 model is hiding.” Apollo sounded bored, unphased by the whole situation, not even whelmed. Hank swung the katana at it, missing it, his next two attempts failing too.

“You might know him as Connor,” it looked like it didn’t even notice Hank’s attempt to decapitate it. He was ready to take another swing when Sumo charged at it and Hank’s blood boiled. That fucker kicked Sumo. It was hurting Sumo, choking him. Oh. It was pointing a gun at Sumo.

He couldn’t understand why it was pointing its gun at Sumo, not until his heart almost stopped. He looked at Apollo and then at Sumo, and it clicked. He locked his eyes with its cold ones, his mind barely registering what was said to him, his body moving too slow.

So fucking slow, so fucking old... so useless.

Five shots went off.

The whole world stopped, time itself became obsolete.

It felt like someone ripped his heart out and put into a shredder. Like someone was squeezing it like a stressball and stuffing cotton down his throat. His whole body froze and he felt as if cold water was pouring into his lungs as he watched the blood soak into the shitty carpet, thin stream making their way onto the wooden floor and staining the other's boots.

His mind went blank, his body moved on its own. It was fight or flight right now. He swung the replica at the android, he missed it, Hank stepped back and threw the katana at it. He missed again.

This wasn't some fucking show or movie, he needed to do this the old way. He pushed into the androids ‘personal’ space, using all his strength and boxing training to hit it. The thing stumbled back, Hank almost slipped on the slick floor but he couldn't focus on that now. He landed nothing but solid hits, five to be exact but the pain that spread through his left hand made him stop, he cradled it and noticed that his right hand was also fucked.

He was fucked.

The shredder to his heart was back, the cotton clogging up his airway and the ice cold water in his lungs. He was being drowned in nothing. He took another swing but Apollo caught his wrist and snapped it. It was an audible and sicking crack that almost echoed, he didn't even get to yell or spit half a curse when he felt the and on his throat. Hank clawed at its arms, kicked at the torso and tried not to choke. He felt the fingers dig into his skin, bruise his neck and Hank started rethinking everything he'd done that day, everything in his life that lead to this moment. Maybe if his mother wasn’t a cop he wouldn’t have followed in her steps. Maybe.

The thing backed him into a wall, held him up and watched him choking with nothing more than an impassive face.

The heartless piece of plastic crap.

“Did you calm down yet?” Hank tried to kick him again but the angle and the air that was running out was making it harder and harder for Hank to think. He continued to try and claw his way out of the grasp, white the android seemed to look around, it stared at his music collection for an oddly long time before he flung him to the couch. Hank fell like a rag doll. Like he weighed _nothing_ to the thing. Hank tried to hold himself up on his arms but they gave out. His head was swimming and his vision was blurry to the point that he was blind. He rolled off the couch to where he thought he saw Sumo’s body, he crawled like a junkie looking for a hit or two. He was right, he felt the soft fur under his bruised fingers. He pulled himself towards it and sat back of his legs, gathering Sumo into his arms. The body sagged and Hank’s stomach did a flip, then a heavy boulder set itself in the pit of his stomach.

“Oh… Sumo, nooo, oh… nooo.” He buried his face in the clean fur and sobbed. All the years with Sumo flooded in, the day he got him for Cole, the day Sumo ran away for the first time or even the day when Hank was going to pull the trigger for sure but then Sumo started barking because his bowl was empty. Hank let himself sob, like when he lost Cole or when his wife left him because she couldn’t bear to watch him destroy himself.

Then he felt a rough hand on his shoulder pulling him up. Hank curled into Sumo, even more, holding Sumo tighter and smelling the grass that he was rolling in earlier that day. The hand pulled him again, this time it was hard enough for Hank to turn around. After he didn’t even see the hand coming to slap him, all he felt was the pain spread across his temple, he heard this left ear ringing and something crack in his neck. It was all a daze after that.

Hank started with the insults first, trying to find the energy to try and kick ass. He scratched and aimed his blows at the android. He felt the heavy weight of Apollo’s hand on his throat, resting there and squeezing just hard enough to make it harder to breathe. Hank held himself up a bit, standing on his toes so he wouldn’t completely suffocate.

“I will … fucking tear you to …. bits you piece of fucking plastic.” Hank took in as much air as he could. Still not enough. His head was starting to spin and the world was fading at the edges. A fleeting thought, a stupid fucking though passed through Hank’s head. He’d laugh at it if it was any other situations. Harder daddy.

He tried to free himself from the vice grip but with every movement, he felt his throat being squeezed just a bit more. “Android piece of shit….. gonna fuck you... up.”

“Reminds you Cole doesn’t it?” The thing's voice sounded like Connor again, his face became kinder like Connor’s, he was imitating Connor.  _ It wasn’t Connor, it just looked like him. _ Hank lashed out again, bared his teeth and scowled so hard that even Gavin would’ve fucked off. 

It wasn’t Connor, It wasn't Connor. It was  _ not  _ Connor. The thing was trying to trick him, play some fucked up mind game. Hank levered himself back, he tried to tear the things arm off (he knew he wouldn’t but he  _ had  _ to try). Instead, he felt his body betray him, it started swaying and crumpling under his feet. He got dragged away from his living room, from his movie, his music collection, his living room that had his dead saint bernard in it. Hank was livid, at the thing, at Cyberlife, at himself for being so fucking weak.

His back cracked when he was shoved against the wall, the edge of the coat rack digging into his hip. Like so god damned brat at walmart he got dressed, he tried to push Apollo’s hands away from himself but he gave up. It was no use, if he couldn’t even hit him then he wouldn’t even get away from him. Hank hated the fact that the jacked he was put into was the one from Connor, like the bastard knew it was from him. It was still that fucker, he was toying with him, using the smallest of things against him, he probably  _ watched him before getting here _ . Hank wondered for a second if he was going overboard, if he was being paranoid.  _ They, fucking Cyberlife has been watching him, _ he looked at Sumo, they knew that was his biggest weakness next to Connor. He looked at Apollo and back at Sumo, they knew they needed to send this  _ thing  _ to fuck him up. Hank felt his breath leave him, his lungs burning from the strain they were put under, he inhaled and he didn’t get enough. He tried to inhale again, to get more air to breath. He didn’t he was having a fucking panic attack, he told himself to stop, that he could indeed freak the fuck out when the whole shitshow was over. He doubled over and rested his hands on his knees, his head swimming and his body drowning.

His legs gave out.

His knees would probably bruise, he would be covered in bruised if he survived this. No, when he finished surviving this, he would survive this like he survived everything else his miserable life. He’d survive and go John Wick on Cyberlife, he’d burn the whole blasphemous company and drag Kamski by his hair into the street.

Hank gagged on the air, his stomach wanting to empty itself out, the smell of blood became overwhelming and he felt his body become unbearable.

_ No, no, no. NO. _

_ It was too hot, too much, too quick. _

He dry heaved again. Felt the cool boot on his naked ankle. He whole body trembled when he felt pressure being applied to it.  _ No, he didn’t want to hobble around for the rest of his life.  _ He turned around and listened to what the tin can was saying.

“I said get up.” Apollo grabbed him by the back of his jacket and shirt, he pulled him up to stand. When the fuck did the fucker say that? Hank was still panting when his feet got punted into his flip-flops, when the android analysed him and he got  _ escorted _ to the car.

As soon as the car door locked Hanks fight or flight instinct woke back up. Hank slapped the glass, he could tell then and there that it wasn’t some plexiglass that was used in ‘the old days’. There was a weakness that he could exploit in that but not in this fancy-smancy crap.

_ Fuck Cyberlife. _

The fucking android ignored him, from his yells to the kicks that Hank used to try and open the door. Not even a secret latch from him to pull or a handle to yank on. Once again the weariness set in quite quick, he slumped back in the seat and looked out the window. The quiet and gentle motions lulled him into some sort of  trance, not quite awake but not quite asleep. Hank let his mind wander, to Sumo, to Connor, to his life in general, to his ex-wife. It bummed him out even more that Dianah was probably going to be greeted by an empty house and a dead dog, that would be the one to inform the police he was missing. They probably find him within the week, most probably dead in a ditch but they’d never catch the killer. Gavin would have the time of his life, telling everyone who’d listen (and those who wouldn’t) that he always knew this would happen.

Hank could hear him already, “Hahaha, always knew the whiskey chugging fart would end up dead in a ditch or a strip club.”

It seemed like years and months passed while he was stuck in the car, it wasn’t until ‘Holly Jolly Christmas’ came on and Hank cringed, because who the fuck listened to Christmas songs two months after Christmas? And it was _ Michael Buble. _ It was only when the android was out of sight that Hank renewed his attempts at escape, he had a bit more energy now from his not-quite-a-nap. He kicked at the junction of the door but when that didn’t work after ten minutes he swapped to punching at the glass. He wished he was MacGyver, the Richard Dean Anderson version, not the 2016 one, or even better Batman (how the comics were still going strong was a mystery to him).

In the moment that the car started moving on his own is the moment Hank truly accepted that he was going to die. His heart dropped. His sister would be on her own now, Connor… Connor would probably be lost, hopefully, that Markus android would help him.  _ Fuck _ \- Hank never got to find out if Connor became friends with anyone from Jericho, he left before they could even start talking about Connor’s future. Hank sniffed and wiped at his eyes, he wasn’t going to show that fuck that he was scared.

Which he was, he was scared shitless. He watched enough movies and  _ been a cop long enough _ to know what happens in these situations. He picked at the bloodied skin on his knuckles.

_ At least he’d see Cole.  _ If there was a heaven that is, and  _ he qualified  _ to get into it. He was towed out, a cold hand on his arm. The grip was too tight.

_ More bruises. _

The chair he was pushed into was… uncomfortable to say the least, the handcuffs heavier and sturdier than the standard police ones. He looked up at the face of the RK900, the face of Connor. It lacked everything and nothing. It cold and calculating now, it’s black clothing utilitarian with a faint triangle and writing on it. It’s eyes dead yet it held a chilling glare that held no empathy for another being on earth. The car lights making him look like some twisted saint, something that would be made into painting or a stained glass piece.

Hank sniffed again, he knew what was going to happen for sure now and he knew that the not-Connor didn’t care if he knew something or not. Which, he didn’t, Hank realised that he was probably a lure at most.

and began his mantra.

_ This isn’t Connor. This isn’t Connor. This isn’t Connor.  _ **_This isn’t Connor._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk, a filler chapter really, I wanted to try and have more angst in it. (still not enough for me)
> 
> Anyway, I think if... for example, my bro's look alike put me through all this shit I'd have a different view on my bro? Like I'd still love him but I'd always have that memory fucking me up? Idk, I don't wish torture or violence of any kind on anyone.
> 
> Also, Hank is a millennial so god damn right he uses memes to cope with difficult situations. Also it was either 'harder daddy' or a reference to the 'are you choking vine' or Hank coughing out 'you kinky fucker'
> 
> Should I do another Hank chapter? This is something y'all legit gonna have to let me know.


	4. The Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my best and even if I failed I still want to hug Hank :(
> 
> Ughh, so yeah, it's not a nice chapter - beware
> 
> Apollo is a major asshole at the end

Apollo decided it was no use in continuing being ‘nice, he threw that option out from the very start. He wasn’t programmed to be nice to begin with, polite yes, but not kind, not nice. He snapped his fingers and the car behind him lit the miserable scene before him. His visual sensors picking up the copious amounts of dust and pollen in the air. He registered the first drops of rain on the slated roof and the low humming of the vehicle.

“Where is the RK800 android?” His voice was flat, a low echo bounced off the relatively empty hall.

“Fuck you, you plastic shit.” Anderson spat on the floor, his face covered in sweat.

“Don't make this harder on yourself.” If RK900 could sigh he would, instead he gently backhanded him. A slap was always deemed more shocking and humiliating by humans, it was more demeaning than a punch or a kick.

Anderson's head whipped to the right and blood trickled from his split lip and mouth. A probable bitten tongue or cheek.

Nothing too serious.

Apollo kneeled down in front of Hank and placed his hands on Anderson's face.  He softened his features, made his voice sound as if there were warmth and love in it and his eyes turned from blue to brown. He wiped at the blood on the chin and lip, like a mother cleaning ice cream off her child's face.

“Hank… Hank please.” he angeled the humans face so he could look him in the eyes. He gave a weak smile, “I don't want to do this to you. I understand why you don't want to talk but I need you… I need you to let me know. I need you to help me.”

“I said… fuck… fuck you.” Hank screwed his eyes shut and Apollo registered the tears dripping down his face.

“Disappointing.” He let his eyes and voice bleed back into their original programming. He stood up, straightened his back and smoothed out the tiny creases in his sleeves. Without hesitation, Apollo placed his right hand and broke the man’s right collarbone.

There was no point in hitting the face, it would dull everything else, make all further attempts at extracting the information all the less effective. The collarbone was a warning, a taste of what was to come. Anything else would be a waste of time, plus the possibilities of RK900 miscalculating and knocking out Anderson were at 0.23%, too high a risk. Permanent brain damage or neck damage was a tab bit higher. Anything above a 0% was too high.

He filed that the use of RK800s voice and appearance seemed to get under the other's skin quite well.

He let his hand run through the human's hair before yanking the whole head back, craning it so that the neck was strained. With his left hand, he pulled out the ice pick and placed it just above Anderson's left eye. He moved it towards the bridge of his nose, dropped it down to the eye's crease and angled it upwards. A precise 40 degrees upwards, the flattest part of the tip parallel to the human's nose.

The supra-orbital nerve was located there.

He slowly started pressing the sharp end into the soft flesh. Anderson didn't scream when it first broke the skin, he only stopped gritting his teeth and started screaming when the tip was starting to sink in. Hank tried to move away, to trash his way out but the Apollo simply secured him in place. His ‘joints’ locked into place, the insides of his arm stiffening into place until he needed them to move. That was something only he had so far, originally it was supposed to be a use for hotel androids so that no matter what weather it was they would always hold the main door open. Nevertheless, Drzewiecki believed it might be useful for holding the likes of a rocket launcher.

“You'll cause more damage if you move.” RK900 pushed in more, waiting until the human broke. Apollo drove in further until the rain and the hum of the car was drowned out by cries. The blood leaked out then a small stream spurted out and stained his fingers. He nicked a small vein, a minor damage. He continued pressing in until his whole hand was coated in blood. He was just on the edge of giving Hank permanent brain and nerve damage.

“Fuck you.” RK900 pulled out the ice pick with a sharp tug, the wooden handle splattered with blood and straightened up. Anderson screamed again, doubled over and the blood dripped everywhere.

“There is no need to insult me, Lieutenant.” He cocked his head at Anderson.

“If this is the best you can do than Cyberlife fucked up.” Hank looked up, he seemed to have a glint of what Apollo filed under ‘grim mirth’ in his eyes. He accepted his fate and was ready to die to protect the RK800. A noble but ultimately foolish sentiment. RK noticed the spike in Hank’s vitals, it was fear or panic rising again. He still had trouble distinguishing them, presumably both, they had a tendency to come hand in hand.

He smiled like the RK800 model would, the smile that crinkled his eyes and wasn't quite even. He noticed Anderson's sharp intake of air and his heart quite literally missing a beat. Apollo switched to RK800s voice again.

“Don't be like this Hank, just help me out.” he placed his clean hand in the mess of grey hair, he ran his finger through and pushed the hair out of Anderson's face. He wiped at the blood still pouring from the fresh wound and around the closed eye. It was swelling shut already and would probably become infected if not treated properly.

The human was right, hitting him wouldn't work and if he kept pushing the ice pick further in he would shove the pick into the brain and then through it. He pulled out the brazing torch and flicked it on. It took a couple of tries but it sparked to life before he switched it off again. The gas levels in it were low, probably would last for a couple of seconds but it was all he needed. He stuck it into his jeans.

He pulled down Anderson's jacket down his arms and ripped the band shirt to expose the side of his neck. He lined up the ice pick with the cervicoaxillary canal at the crook of the neck. Apollo used his clean hand to push down on Hank’s head and then wrapped his arm around his head, angling it to the side. Apollo trapped it in the crook of his arm, locking the limb like a vice. His sensors picked up Hank’s heavy breathing that was becoming more rapid and shallow by the minute.

It was absolute fear.

“Where is the RK800 model known as Connor?” once again the android began to push the ice pick in. If the ice pick went too far in the human could be paralyzed, but that fine, it wasn't death. Once again the screaming drowned out the noise, this time Apollo registered crying, the human was at his breaking point. Apollo felt Anderson try and sink his teeth into the synthetic skin on his hand.

Pathetic.

Anderson would break his teeth sooner than damage Apollo.

He turned and moved the ice pick up and down in the wound, this time the screams reached a new level. Apollo retracted the pick and flicked the blood off it. He tucked it back into his trousers, he wouldn't need it anymore, the burnishing torch would seal the deal.

He placed the tip of the burnisher into the open wound, Anderson's whole body jolted forwards, the RK unit adjusted his limb placement, he angled his arm to go under the jaw and rested his hand on the back of the humans head. Hank slumped further into RK900s grasp, his body giving out, his mind delirious from the pain and blood loss.

No biting this time.

He threaded his fingers into the man's hair and held him. He massaged the human's skull, letting him relax a bit, using his Connor voice to coo sweet nothings. Hank buried his face and sobbed into his bicep, telling Connor to stop, apologising to Cole and babbling incoherently about his canine.

Apollo pushed the burnisher deeper so it would reach the nerve and flicked it on. This time Anderson really broke, he stared openly wailing and begging. Pleading for the pain to stop, his voice starting to break and become hoarse. Apollo assumed the pain was like having needles course his body, sailing like tiny icebreakers all the way down his arm and top of his chest. Spreading over his chest and top of his back like nettles being dragged across him.

Not that Apollo knew what any of it felt like.

The screams were cut off with ragged breaths and wheezing. He kept burning the flesh until the gas ran out. He scanned the nerve and the surrounding meat, he deemed it damaged just enough, the nerve was burned for the most part but with RK900s precision, Hank was just on the verge of having a useless arm. Pulling out the burnisher and letting it drop to the ground, he looked at the human, waiting for his answer. His hand still toying with the grey strands, giving Anderson a fake sense of comfort.

“Just… stop it.” Hanks' mouth hung open and his breaths were shallow. “Please….please stop it.” His voice hoarse and coughs started to wreck his body.

RK900 watched in what one could assume was boredom as the human began cursing and flailing to free himself. “Where is the RK800 unit?” he still used the RK800 voice, he made it softer like a whisper that held untold secrets.

“I… I don't know.” It was a blatant lie, he was still trying, holding onto the idea of not telling RK900 what he needed.

He was sure that Anderson would utterly break by now, that he'd be begging to rattle out Connor’s location. This was, however, a minor hiccup, everything broke over time one just needed patience, which Apollo had an abundance of. He deemed a couple more minutes, one or two more tricks would do.

He pushed up his sleeves, his right hand leaving a red trail on his left arm. He had over a 100 ways to torture Anderson, from ancient Chinese methods to the most obscure ones. He could use whatever he had to his advantage, from something as innocent as a child's toy to a simple copper wire. He could keep Anderson on the verge of death for as long as he needed to, always denying him what Hank so badly desired. Nevertheless, he would complete his mission within the given time span, he still had 45 hours to do so.

He slid out the ice pick again, twirled it in his hand for the pure drama of it before plunging it into the patellar tendon in the knee and severing it. Anderson would recover over time, with proper surgery and therapy. He let Hank scream, jolt and wither in pain, he was damaging his knee all on his own that way. He pulled the ice pick out and shoved it back into the other knee, this time he held onto the ice pick as Hank’s cries filled the hall.

With a cold glare he turned the pick in growing circles, Anderson would never get rid of the limp after this. Anderson would always have sore knees during stormy weather and walk with a cane. He craned the human's head to look him in the eyes and see the fading light of hope. What an irrational concept - to hope.

“Where is the RK800 unit?” Apollo hissed his Connor act dropping. Hank’s whole face scrunched up, the swollen eye already being a dark navy colour, he tried to move his head out of the grip and away from Apollo’s hand.

“No.” Hank's lips quivered downwards, tears still running down his cheeks. Apollo registered Hank’s mouth moving, not speaking just moving. With a quick and bloody hand, he pried Anderson's mouth open. His tongue was bleeding, his teeth were stained with blood and the sound that Hank made was one of utter distress.

“Such a deplorable attempt. I'll tear your tongue out if you so desire after I'm done with you.” Apollo decided, then and there that he'd let Hank live, he would destroy himself over time, Apollo would haunt his dreams and waking moment. He'd make sure that Anderson would live a long life too, know that everyone around him died before he could.

At that moment Anderson's ringtone blared out from RK900’s pocket. He fished it out and looked at the caller ID.

>Ringtone: Despacito -Luis Fonsi_

>Caller ID: Unknown._

It was with Hank’s reaction Apollo knew it was his predecessor. He shoved his hand deeper into the human's mouth and pushed down and further in until Hank was gagging.

“What?” He adjusted his voice to match Hank’s.

“Hank, why are you in New Haven?”

“Checking out a lead, it's a total shit show here. I need your help.” Apollo had to apply more pressure to Hank’s jaw until his sensors picked up creaking bones.

“Oh? Alright, I'll be down in an hour.”

Apollo turned to Anderson and watched the fear in his eyes. “Yeah, yeah just get your ass down here.” With his best Connor smile, Apollo hung up and jerked his hand out. He wiped it on the torn shirt before gripping Hank’s jaw.

He fixed Anderson's jacket and combed the man's hair back with his hands. “Stay here.” With a quick pat on the cheek, he turned to the automobile to prepare.

He took the rifle case out of the booth, he checked the handgun on him and placed the spare ammunition in his jacket and trousers. He threw the ice pick and brazier torch into the booth of the car, he'd dispose of them later. Placing his hand on the automobile he turned it black and commanded it to shut off. With the fading light, he looked at Anderson.

“How does it feel to have everyone around you die?” Apollo asked it was a genuine question of sorts. He wanted information on feelings to use them, to adapt to them and manipulate them. Hank didn’t answer but Apollo could see him shifting weakly in the chair, trying to see where Apollo was in the dark.

“I guess you deserve everyone leaving you. You were a burden yes? To your family?” Apollo had over 30 minutes to antagonize Anderson and to get into position. “You weren’t there as a father to Cole?” He done his research, scanned all the records of the Anderson family both near and distant.

“Your wife she left you because of your self-destruction? The late nights that you were missing from home, the anger outbursts, the wallowing in self-pity?" 

Hank stifled a cry. 

"How did you even manage to survive this long? You had the opportunity at the hospital, I saw the recordings - you had the pills and the knife. Why didn’t you? You really should’ve, it’d spared you this whole calamity.” It was right after Cole's surgery failed that Hank was put on suicide watch for two weeks. Four months later his wife left him with the saint bernard puppy.

"Shame really." With that Apollo let Hank scream and cry in the dark. He disappeared into the pitch black, like a ghost he climbed the racking to where a stationary pallet rested. He set up the sniper rifle and laid in wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk I'm trying to make this as depressing as I can because no one is stopping me.
> 
> I guess Apollo is lowkey a deviant if he decided to keep Hank alive instead of killing him. :thonk:
> 
> Also the last verse of "Saint Bernard - Lincoln" was on repeat in my head when I wrote this.
> 
> I legit need feedback at this point if it's sad or not. Blease i have no idea what the fuck im doing at this point.

**Author's Note:**

> I spent too much time figuring out how big, what shape and how many androids can fit in the warehouse, special thanks to Lizard for helping me.
> 
> Chapter 2 should be up pretty soon because chapter 2 was supposed to be chapter 1, and so on. I'm hoping for a lot longer chapters after this.
> 
> Also, y'all probs gonna hate me after the next chapter, I'm not sorry.


End file.
